


How Silent Is This Town

by hoisinn



Category: Othello - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: (this gratiano is the same from merchant of venice), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Cassio is out of character but i like this one haha, F/M, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, OCs are just side characters, Post-Canon, Shakespeare Joined Canon, as well as more chapters hopefully!, bianca and emilia are appreciated, dialogue isnt in shakespearean english because that shit's hard to write yo, iagos uncharacteristically creepy oh my, ive edited the summary like TEN TIMES NOW, more tags will be added eventually i think, not sure what time period this is set in but it certainly aint elizabethan england!, roderigo is a characteristically sad sad dumbass (just kidding), there is no research put into this at all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoisinn/pseuds/hoisinn
Summary: The Turks are gone, Cyprus has been departed, and Cassio's left to deal with the aftermath of everything.Canon-Divergent AU where Othello and Desdemona are the only ones that die. Takes place after the events of the play.





	1. for mine own part, i hope to be saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this a few months ago, but I'm picking it up again. Unknown amount of chapters as of posting, but this one kinda works as a one-shot?

Brabantio’s not waiting for them when the Venetian army arrive on the docks, and Cassio shouldn’t be this worried about it. After all, who was there to greet? Lodovico had arrived a week prior, Gratiano with him, and Desdemona lay in the orlop deck beneath his feet. Dead.

Now that he thinks about it, there wasn’t much of a crowd to greet them at all. Understandable, of course- the citizens had probably heard of the tragedy already, and decided not to face the awful reality of it. Cassio wishes he could do the same.

 

He departs the boat after everyone else, face probably betraying more emotion than he’s comfortable with. A few eyes are met, most of the citizens giving Cassio a tight-lipped smile and looking away, which is once again, understandable. The only person who doesn’t do that is Lodovico, who starts striding towards him as soon as Cassio looks in his direction.

“Cassio, General of Venice. How wonderful it is to see you again, I trust the journey was well?”, he greets.

Cassio’s left eye involuntarily twitches as the title- _general_. Despite everything, he can still only think of Othello as being in that position, and considering the events of the past month…

Lodovico seems to pick up on Cassio’s discomfort and quickly changes the subject matter.

“You must be rather tired after your trip- allow me to accompany you to your residence.” He picks up a suitcase before Cassio can object. “Have you eaten? It’s past lunch-time.”

“No, I haven’t-”

Lodovico drops the bag in the process of clapping his hands together.

“Well, we shall eat first. I still have much to tell you, and you can’t listen on an empty stomach-”

“Lodovico, it’s alright.”

“But-”

Cassio’s eye twitches again. “Not to be disrespectful- thank you for your offer- but I would much rather sleep.”

Lodovico opens his mouth to say something, but Cassio interrupts again.

“It has been many restless nights upon that vessel, and I am absolutely exhausted. Would you not trade food for several refreshing hours of sleep, granted you were in my position?”

Lodovico opens his mouth again, closes it, raises his finger to object, and finally lowers it in acceptance.

“You make a fair point. Shall we depart, then?”, he asks, picking up the dropped suitcase.

 

They arrive at Cassio’s villa without much further interruption. He’s a little curious about what Lodovico has to tell him, but it can wait. The whole world can wait god damn it. Cassio attempts to sort out his belongings before the day’s over, but he doesn’t really get much further than taking out his jackets before passing out on a couch and submitting to the dark lull of sleep.

It’s nice for the 9 hours he’s actually unconscious, the busy streets of Venice doing nothing to rouse him from his slumber. It’s dreamless and peaceful and altogether a well-deserved break from literally everything that’s been going on.

 

When Cassio wakes, the utopian fog of sleep still clouds his usual pessimism until he’s snapped back to reality by the sounds of a street brawl outside.

It’s night, he realises dimly.

A punch is thrown and audibly received, and Cassio feels a pang of responsibility- he should stop the fight, especially now that he’s the ge… he’s _responsible_ \- but his body won’t move. What?

He can move only his head, looking anxiously at his surroundings. Everything seems to be normal. Why can’t he move? Is he dreaming?

The fight continues outside, insults becoming personal jabs, emotions being thrown around like they’re playthings. Cassio can hear a sword being drawn and his heartbeat quickens without his consent- he can practically feel a blade slicing through his leg at the sound.

A man cries out in sudden pain and Cassio cringes. He has to move. He has to wake up.

The shouting outside only intensifies at his thoughts, more swords being drawn, more men joining the fray. It’s suffocating him slowly, the noises becoming more indistinguishable, more agitating, everything is overwhelming and-

The sound of a bottle breaking slices through the din. Across the hall, a window breaks. It’s cold.

 

Cassio’s skin crawls, and not because of the perceived temperature- someone’s in this room. Someone’s watching him. Someone’s face is hidden by shadows and the night, but Cassio knows who it is.

Iago.

The street outside is silent, and Cassio feels like prey.

Iago is almost entirely expressionless as he walks- no- _glides_ toward Cassio and the world seems to suddenly distort around him. He’s in a Cyprus courtyard now, Roderigo’s body to his left, Iago still on his right and he looks _bored_ . It’s inhumane and it’s terrifying and he keeps getting closer, Cassio _needs_ to wake up.

A light shines from the balcony above. It glints on the hilt of Iago’s sword (he can feel it _in_ him again) and in the villain’s eyes. They’re almost demonic. The light flickers as someone walks above them, unaware of the- no, they’re shouting now, drawing attention, but Iago is undeterred. He never stops getting closer, never stops staring at him, never blinks, never moves, the voices above are getting louder, wake up _wake up wake up right NOW._

 

Cassio wakes with a start, breath shallow, head aching. It’s night, and a street brawl sounds from outside.

  


His luggage remains untouched, Cassio outright ignoring it as he trudges downstairs to his bathroom- wait, no. He fell asleep on the living room couch, and the bathroom is on the same damn floor. There’s an ache in his neck to accompany the growing one in his head and he groans. God, he’s thirsty too.

Cassio can see the silhouettes of the fighters outside from the kitchen, the torchlight distorting their figures and making every subtle move leap and dance across the window. This must have been the window that “broke”. He’s somewhat at ease, strangely enough, despite the events of his dream still replaying in his mind. Cassio can’t find it in himself to question it.

He’s a little lightheaded but completely awake, so he decides he’ll visit Lodovico. It’s _obviously_ the best thing to do in the middle of the night.

Unsurprisingly, the diplomat is asleep. The gate to his villa is locked, and Cassio stares at it for 10 minutes, mind completely blank. Alright, so maybe he isn’t _entirely_ awake. He finally registers that no, he cannot get inside, and half-dejectedly walks away in a random direction.

After another 10 minutes, he’s lost. Completely and utterly lost. He recognises this part of Venice, but not well enough to navigate himself, and a mild sense of panic finally sets in. The streets are empty, the houses are dark, and the town is completely silent.

There are flickering streetlights that (attempt to) illuminate the settings, but they’re of no help. Retracing his steps doesn’t work either. He can’t even find Lodovico’s house again.

Eventually, he ends up on a small stone bridge, the tips of his shoes dragging in the water. Moonlight reflects the image into the river and it’s rather picturesque, which serves to calm Cassio slightly.

He’s close enough to civilisation that the placement of the lights has turned from ‘sparse’ to ‘spread out’. There are several rags soaking in the water, probably forgotten laundry, and a singular duck. Cassio attempts to telepathically ask where the nearest person lives, but it swims under the water and reemerges a few metres away. At a loss for what else to do, Cassio follows the duck (on dry land, of course). Strangely enough, it leads him to a familiar intersection where he can find his way back. The drunken skirmish was no longer by the time he arrived on his doorsteps, and it’s an hour til dawn when Cassio falls asleep again.


	2. cry shame against me, yet i'll speak.

Lodovico is knocking on his door relentlessly. Each sound sends a jolt of pulsing pain through Cassio’s head, and if he didn’t know better, he would have thought he’s hungover, what with all the discomfort. Despite it being sunny, he can tell the weather is bitingly cold.

**_bang, bang, bang_ **

Maybe if he stays in bed long enough, Lodovico will give up and leave?

**_bang, bang, bang_ **

He turns around and muffles the sound with a pillow-

Oh. That just reminds him of Desdemo-

_**bang** - _

“I’m coming, just give me a minute!”, Cassio shouts, flinging the blankets off him and changing as quickly as physically possible. His head spins with vertigo, making him almost fall down the stairs in his rush to open the door.

“General? Are you-”

“GoodmorningLodovico!”, Cassio blurts out as the flings open the door.

Lodovico blinks. “Good  _ morning _ ? It’s near noon, sir. You have overslept.”

Cassio looks over the diplomat’s head and into the sun. Ouch. It  _ is _ very high up in the sky though, and he laughs.

“Yes, I think I have! Apologies for the inconvenience, I, uh, hope you didn’t wait out here for too long?”

Lodovico shrugs, smiling. “Nothing I don’t have the patience for, Cassio. I woke up a little late myself.”

He pauses, and the atmosphere smoothly transitions from casual to tense. “Nevertheless, this is not the time for idle chat, I’ve news to tell you, and it is my job to inform. There’s a meeting you must attend first- matters of state- but my news is a little more… personal. If you’d like to get ready, we can discuss it over lunch?”

Cassio is absolutely famished, having not eaten anything since the previous morning. He’s also in much need to “get ready”, his clothes unwashed and his hair an uncharacteristic mess. Lodovico closes the door behind him as Cassio runs back upstairs to change and wash, headache still stabbing at him from the inside. It’s a huge effort to keep repressing it, and he wants to tell Lodovico that he’s sick.

 

He wants to avoid responsibility, but he can’t.

After all, he’s the… No. No, it’s just what Othello would have wanted him to do.

 

Lodovico’s designated meeting room is filled people crowded around several rows of chairs facing a slightly elevated table, most of them important-looking. He recognises many faces- old friends, other senators, the Duke, Gratiano, and oh no, Brabantio.

Brabantio’s not looking his way, thankfully (though Cassio’s not sure why he’s happy about it). He inconspicuously wipes a few breadcrumbs from his mouth, feeling somewhat like a fish out of water (still not sure why). Upon another look around, he can also see some members from the army-  _ his  _ army, god,- and… oh.

Bianca, Emilia, and Roderigo are here.

All three are seated behind the table, and all three are looking a little worse for wear.

 

Well, at least two of them. Bianca seems to physically light up as soon as she meets Cassio’s eye, smiling brightly and motioning for him to come over. Emilia’s on her right, restraining her from obsessing too much over him. She looks dignified, as always. Dignified, but so very very  _ stressed _ . Roderigo’s several chairs away from them, putting great effort into ignoring Cassio. His aesthetic is the same as before, but his mind is very obviously far away from the present.

 

Cassio, too, ignores Roderigo as he takes the chair on Bianca’s left. She immediately wraps her arms around him in a tight hug, and he returns it (although a little reluctantly).

“Cass, oh gosh, it’s so good to see you again!”, Bianca exclaims, her grin only growing wider. “It’s only been a day, I know, but I was so worried about you! Emilia says there wasn’t any reason for it, and I suppose there wasn’t, but oh, I’m literally overjoyed to see you’re okay. Cassio, Cass, I’m so happy you’re here…”

She trails off into somewhat of a muffled, tearful giggle, and Cassio awkwardly pats her back. He doesn’t like Bianca. In…  _ that _ way.

She knows.

 

He’s spared the discomfort of any more contact by Lodovico clearing his throat, silencing the room. Bianca gives a final squeeze and lets go, still smiling. Emilia looks somewhat conflicted.

“Last week, I returned to our Venetian shores, carrying news of the tragic events that unfolded in Cyprus.”

Lodovico pauses. A few people lower their heads in a brief show of respect.

“As all of you have been informed of the incidents, or were personally there,”

Gazes flicker to Emilia, Bianca, Roderigo, and Cassio. He feels, for lack of a better word, exposed.

“The purpose of this meeting is to discuss the perpetrator of these crimes. Iago, and his punishment.”

Cassio can feel Emilia’s discomfort grow tenfold at Lodovico’s words. He and Bianca look at each other worriedly, exchanging the same questions.

_ Where is Iago? _

_ What will Emilia say? _

_ Wasn’t Cassio meant to privately execute Iago’s punishment? _

“You may remember that Signor Cassio was initially the only enforcer of the villain’s sentence. However, during the week, the Duke, Gratiano, Brabantio, and I have decided it should be a group decision. After, all, Cassio was not the only victim of this tragedy.”

He motions towards the four. Emilia casts her eyes down, avoiding the constant staring. Cassio and Bianca look at each other again.

_ Well, that’s one question answered. _

“Ultimately, as general, Cassio will make the decision. However, we will now take suggestions.”, Lodovico finishes.

Almost immediately, the room fills with questions. It’s impossible to distinguish between each person, and Cassio’s reminded of both his headache and his dream.

It’s suffocating.

He can see Lodovico rolling his eyes.

“QUIET!”, the diplomat shouts. And as a quick afterthought, “PLEASE!”

Unsurprisingly, it takes a significantly longer time for everyone to calm down.

Cassio’s thoughts are shifted to Emilia. There was an event like this a few years ago, he remembers, during a party. Everyone was laughing and singing until the Duke stepped in and forced them to disband. The conflict could have evolved into something violent, even out of the Duke’s control, but Emilia managed to conciliate everyone. That was the day Cassio really started to know her for who she was- not just Iago’s wife, but as an assertive, independent, forward-thinking woman.

There’s little resemblance of the same person in the Emilia he sees now. She’s quiet, overwhelmed. She’s not the same person he once fell in love with.

 

Cassio’s concern continues throughout the meeting. Someone suggests the death penalty- Gratiano, he thinks- and while Emilia doesn’t say anything, he can feel her dignity swiftly being replaced by desolation. It makes him sick, and though Iago killed two people, Cassio can’t do the same to him.

It would just  _ break _ Emilia.

 

His decision not to kill is met with unanimous dislike. The room explodes with sound again, and while Lodovico shushes the masses, Cassio can tell he’s not happy with it either.

It’s a little awkward thereafter. Everyone seemed to have the same suggestion of putting Iago to death, and those who didn’t had torture methods that would have killed him far too quickly. It’s all too brutal, too bestial. And while they  _ would _ have a nice sense of closure, it’s just… wrong. Cassio can’t give a reason why, but he won’t do anything.

He finds himself glancing at Emilia every time someone says something. Watching her reaction. Slowly realising it’s becoming less about himself, and more about her. She meets Cassio’s eye a few times- enough to make it awkward- but never opens her mouth to speak. He can sense something bubbling up inside of her though, ready to explode. Seems like she wasn’t as tired as he thought she was.

“Uh, Emilia… Do you want to s-”

“May I suggest something?”

All eyes turn to Emilia.

Her voice is strong, but she radiates fear. Bianca holds her hand, giving Emilia some physical sense of support. She relaxes a little- Bianca smiles- but it’s painfully evident in the way she holds herself that Emilia’s anxious beyond comprehension.

“Cut off his tongue.”

The room is encased in silence.

Emilia lets out a shaky breath, and continues.

“Do it gradually. Slice by slice, as often or irregular as you please. I know him well, and Iago  _ flourishes _ with structure- if his environment is unpredictable, he will be much more easily persuaded to reveal the truth.”

Emilia breathes in through her nose, out through her mouth. Continues.

“Suggest that he talk between visits. Offer him writing materials if the pain is excessive. Let him suffer, and seal the wound with fire, lest he choke or bleed to death. Do  _ not _ let him die.”

There’s a horrible note of contrasting foreboding and finality to the statement. Emilia slowly sits back down, squeezing Bianca’s hand back. The latter bites her lip. Emilia is shaking.

“He tried to silence me, but I shall not silence him. For the benefit of the state, and my… dedication to him, if nothing else.”

 

Everyone in the room looks at Cassio, waiting for affirmation or rejection. He in turn looks at Emilia, but she turns away. Bianca gives him the slightest of all nods.

“It shall be done.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the cutting of the tongue was actually decided by one of my friends who shall be unnamed, so uh, credit to her for that.
> 
> anyways, this is the last of the pre-written chapters, so say goodbye to my decent month-old writing and say hello to mildly-horrible present day writing!!1!


	3. to the felt absence, now i feel a cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter this time. mostly because school has just started again- final year, hurray!

As everyone leaves, the conversation gradually turning back to daily events, Cassio notices Roderigo from the corner of his eye. He hasn’t moved, or spoken at all during the whole meeting. It’s a bit of a shock, really, and Cassio makes his way through the crowd to talk to him.

“Hey, Roderigo, I j-”

The man’s face remains impassive, but he stands and narrows his eyes at Cassio.

“I’m not in the mood to talk. So don’t.”, Roderigo mutters, tone distant and clipped.

“My sincere apologies, then. I was just wondering if you’re feeling quite alright today? I couldn’t help but notice your participation was…”

“Non-existent, yes. I don't want to get involved with Iago anymore. I’m over everything, I’m done. Goodbye,” He pauses. “ _General_.”

 

Cassio doesn’t manage to say anything else before Roderigo turns on his heel and strides out the door.

“Hey, Cass. I think he left his coat.”

Bianca smiles at him, her presence a welcome distraction from literally everything going on.

“You’re stressed, I can tell. Have you eaten yet? We could have lunch alone together, I heard the bar opposite Sabina’s house has several new recipes?”

Cassio opens his mouth to protest- he has terrible allergies, but Bianca puts a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“Or you could go back to your house, have lunch alone, and go to sleep. A fulfilling life, yes.”

She laughs, and even Cassio cannot resist a grin. “But the thing is…”

Bianca pauses, her expression giving way to something more serious. She sighs. “I know I’m going to miss you. You were at school, then you became a soldier, and now you’re the _general_! I’m so, so happy for you but-”

 

Cassio interrupts her with an almost comically loud gasp, followed by a faint string of expletives under his breath.

“Oh God, oh no, I _completely_ forgot-” He grabs Roderigo’s coat and looks toward nearest doorway, searching for Lodovico. “I’m sorry Bianca, I forgot I had a meeting today- something personal, apparently. I don’t think I’ll be available today, but, uh, perhaps some other day we can arrange a lunch together?”

Bianca looks a little taken aback, but recovers daintily. “No, no, it’s alright! You’ve got responsibilities. I understand.” She looks away for a split second, and Cassio wishes he could just make her happy. Uh, platonically.

“Thank you for your understanding. Until we meet again.” He pats her back again, less awkwardly than when greeting her, and makes his way to another room.

 


	4. thou dost come to start my quiet.

Lodovico is deep in conversation with someone when Cassio finds him amongst the throngs of people still in his villa. He speed walks towards him, relieved to escape from Bianca. She was welcome, yes, until she started to talk about her… feelings. Despite Cassio’s usual air of camaraderie and friendliness, he opens up to surprisingly few. Even fewer now, considering the past events.

“Lodovico, sorry to keep you waiting! What was it you wanted to ask me…”

He trails off as he recognises the man Lodovico was talking to.

“Brabantio. Greetings.”

Cassio nods in respect, mirrored shortly after by Brabantio. They attempt to stare each other down, though Brabantio’s effort is much more genuine, considering he is much older and was previously more powerful than Cassio, and that Cassio is a little terrified of him.

Lodovico intervenes a few seconds in, ushering the two into a smaller, but still aesthetically decorated, room, and sitting them down.

 

“Lodovico-”, starts both Cassio and Brabantio.

“Is this about Desdemona-” “Have you informed Cassio of my troubles?”, they continue.

Lodovico raises a finger to answer both questions, his words are almost immediately drowned out by an outbreaking argument, only restrained by forced politeness and the presence of other senators nearby.

“Yes, Cassio, this is about Desdemona! This is about her death- no, her  _ murder _ .”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Emilia about this?”

“Women lie, Cassio.”

“Actually-”

“-Desdemona deceived me- lord, I should have  _ never _ left her- and Emilia will deceive me too. She is far too loyal to Iago.”

“I don’t-”

“She wouldn’t kill him, for God’s sake! After  _ everything _ he’s done!”

“Roderigo, then? He loved Desdemona-”

“I will  _ not _ talk to Roderigo, and he will not talk to me. Stop avoiding your responsibility, Cassio. You contributed to Desdemona’s murder.”

“ _ I played an unwilling part in Iago’s plot. _ Now, with all due respect-”

“Unwilling, perhaps, but your actions have lead to her murder. You can, and will be held partially accountable. There is no-”

“Brabantio, I dare say you have been misinformed. It was Iago’s doing that-”

 

“Oh? I’ve been misinformed?” Brabantio stands up, one hand gripping the table’s edge, the other one pointed accusingly at Cassio. “Tell me then-”

Lodovico places a hand on Brabantio’s shoulder in an attempt to drag him down, but Brabantio slaps it off. “I want to know the truth, Lodovico! What happened in Cyprus?”

 

There is a long, quiet sigh from the diplomat.

“I don’t know everything. What I’ve already told you about Othello, Iago, and your daughter is the extent of my knowledge. Please restrain yourselves from provoking each other. Your behaviour is almost unacceptable.”

Silence permeates the villa. Everyone has departed from the building, making their ways toward everyday life. Two pairs of eyes follow Brabantio’s descent as he slowly sits down again, seemingly deflating.

“You’re right. I lost control.”

The apology never comes. Cassio sighs almost as deeply as Lodovico.

“It’s alright, none of us are perfect. I’ll tell you what happened… as far as my truth extends. Will that suffice?”

Brabantio nods.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short chapter, but the next couple are longer.  
> (everything's written like, a few weeks beforehand i just like to have a backlog haha)


	5. he hath left part of his grief with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mainly just a flashback chapter ig

Cassio wasn’t acquainted with Desdemona until Othello introduced him to her, eyes twinkling and words full of praise and passion. It was almost midnight, but the way they looked at each other could banish the shadows from any alley- it seemed that they were the light in each others world.

Their relationship was dangerous- that they both knew. Their elopement was a secret to the Venetian army and Brabantio, who did not expect his daughter to fall in love at all, let alone run away with a Moorish soldier. Desdemona was afraid of her father finding out about their relationship and the subsequent actions he would take to separate them. Othello was not afraid of anyone, but rather the thought that she could be gone- taken away from him, leaving him with a void he previously was not even aware of.

 

The two would send Cassio as a sort of in-between, evading the army’s probing questions with excuses of “army business from the senators” when he was delivering love letters from Desdemona to Othello. The saucier soldiers would suspect something was up, of course, but Othello’s high position in the army (in addition to his silencing glares) would stop them from discovering too much.

Despite Brabantio’s racism and general unpleasantness, he would often invite Othello over to his manor. He claimed it was to “check in on the matters of the state and military”, though he did end up noticing Desdemona’s good moods during Othello’s visits, and her melancholy after he left. Brabantio deduced it was due to the stories he would tell him and Desdemona (because she _obviously_ wouldn’t even think of falling in love with a Moor). Cassio would often listen to these stories with them, adding little details where Othello had missed, like how the little blue-feathered creatures they encountered on a journey would eat only butter, or how a soldier had to wear chainmail at night because flowers given to him by his lover would sometimes attract aggressive sharp-toothed rodents to his tent.

 

Every story, Desdemona and Othello would fall into deeper and deeper love.

 

When Othello asked for not Cassio’s, but Iago’s assistance in arranging the marriage, it came as a surprise to both. Iago had a close relationship with Othello as well- perhaps even more intimate, seeing as they had been friends for longer- but the nature of their relationship was a professional one. They had met when enlisting, bonded in the barracks, and defended each other on the battlefield. Othello did not pry into Iago’s personal life, and Iago very rarely asked about Othello’s.

The decision was answered with another puzzling choice- Cassio was to become lieutenant instead of Iago, and he needed to attend several conferences outlining his power and responsibilities. Cassio had tried to ask why he was being promoted of course, but Othello just said something vague about him being generally more “likeable” and “well-received” by the stream of young recruits in the army. Cassio didn’t really think to inquire further, being quite overcome with the subsequent praise and compliments.

 

Iago found out about it one way or another. He seemed to receive the news quite well at the time (though it’s clear to everyone now how incredibly wrong they were). Cassio did not see him until after the wedding, burdened with reports of a Turkish attack. Brabantio drew everyone present away to the council chamber, sparing not a glance toward him. Iago didn’t look at him either, but Cassio did not think ill of it at the time.

Othello’s decision for Desdemona to be escorted by Iago was a little more expected, considering that he had been to Cyprus before. The two of them came ashore after Cassio did (along with Emilia, which was normal, and Roderigo, which was… strange), and the time between their and Othello’s arrival was spent jesting about women at Desdemona and Emilia’s expense. Cassio could do naught but smile and listen, lest an objection to Iago’s opinion would result in the disapproval of Othello- after all, Cyprus was a place of battle, so Othello and Iago would be together for much of the time.

The Turks were drowned, and the island burst out in celebration. Desdemona and Othello’s reunion seemed to be the start of a joyful honeymoon on a beautiful island now free of war (at least for now). Montano greeted them warmly, Iago stayed back to talk with Roderigo, and Cassio was led away by several local women to prepare for the festival.

He did not know just how long Iago had been planning his revenge on Othello, but as far as Cassio was aware, his first involvement was during the celebrations- he had been too rash, probably, and the lack of threat from the Turks meant his guard was down. Cyprus was a foreign island to most soldiers Cassio was acquainted with, and all things considered, Iago was his closest friend there.

 

It was all a blur of festivities and drinking and swords and sudden loss. With his demotion, Cassio’s position was lost within a military world. Iago’s words made complete sense at the time- Desdemona _was_ Othello’s… weakness, for lack of a better word, and the nature of their relationship was _sure_ to reinstate Cassio.

He put the plan into motion as soon as possible, which was a mistake on his part, seeing he was not in fact ready to talk to Othello. He too left as soon as possible, not realising the mistake he made in doing so.

 

Cassio did not see Othello or Iago for along time after, but still sought after his former position, begging Desdemona to talk to the general, to remind him of their friendship, to do some other act so he could have a place in the world again. Cassio wishes he could forget, because he was foolish and selfish and completely unaware of everything happening around him.

 

Bianca unwittingly made herself part of the plot, and if he could change anything, Cassio wishes he could stop himself from delivering the handkerchief into her hands. All she truly did was love, and though it made Cassio uncomfortable, she should not have been a part of the crimes.

Cassio also wishes he did not laugh scornfully at the prospect of marriage, because it dug himself and Bianca deeper into Iago’s plots, and it made firmer the prospect of Desdemona’s death. He remembers picking up the handkerchief after Bianca’s outburst, tucking it in a pocket and chasing after her.

 

The next thing Cassio chased after was Roderigo, though he did not know it at the time. He was not entirely sure why a man was attacking him anyways- probably just drunk- but as soon as he stabbed him, he was hurt himself. Down they both fell, though Iago picked Cassio up and once again, listened to his cries for help and revenge.

He had fainted not long after, and woke in a surgeon’s office, leg in pain and bandages, and a terrible sense of unexplained foreboding. There was a letter placed near his stretcher, stained with blood- Roderigo’s blood, God bless the man- and covered in ink detailing Iago’s orchestration of the entire crime.

 

It would be an understatement to say it came as a shock. When Cassio was brought to Othello’s bedchamber his distress only worsened, the sight of Desdemona’s body silencing him. He could not speak of how terrible it was and still can not. Every event in that room was beyond words. The surroundings were loud. His mind was silent.

 

The new role of general didn’t register in Cassio’s brain for a distressing amount of time, the feeling of responsibility and duty finally settling in when the trauma of seeing his two best friends dead somewhat repressed itself. It consumed Cassio during the journey from Cyprus back to Venice, and the question of his worthiness hounded him day after day, only interrupted by night terrors and mourning.

 

Iago had not been on the same ship as Cassio had been on, mostly so he could be jailed and secured in Venice as soon as possible, but despite everything he had done to him, Cassio wanted to talk. Othello and Desdemona’s corpses laid in the dark deck underneath him, but _god_ , he wanted to talk.

Did he need an excuse, something justifying their deaths? Did he want to escape responsibility? Was he not ready to accept Iago as… as a murderer? Was he ready to leave his grief behind?

  


“... I still seek the answers to these questions, but I hope I have answered yours well.”

Hanging heaviness penetrates the silence, Lodovico and Brabantio casting their gazes down, Cassio’s words echoing in their minds. Brabantio is the first to move, expression masking any emotion he might be feeling.

“Thank you, Cassio. I… will need some time to digest this… information.”

He casts a tight-lipped smile at him and walks out with some semblance of dignity, leaving only Cassio and Lodovico in the room. They, too, gently refuse to make eye contact.

 

Before any words can be spoken between them, Cassio takes his leave.

  



	6. it is not in my virtue to amend it.

With the disarray his mind is in, Cassio’s quite surprised when his first thought out of Lodovico’s villa is “I should say sorry to Bianca”.

He’s in no way a man free of guilt, no, but Cassio doesn’t think highly enough of Bianca to care about her and what she thinks, and certainly not highly enough to feel a little repentance over leaving her so suddenly. Well, at least he thinks so.

 

Which is how he finds himself speed walking to the bar opposite Sabina’s, looking out for Bianca along the way and hoping apologise to her, maybe they could even have that lunch together if she has time?

 

Unsurprisingly, Cassio doesn’t see her on the streets. He does, however, receive a blend of condolences and compliments from members of the public, both of which leave him feeling a little more guilt for his part in the tragedy and his ongoing lack of acceptance of responsibility respectively. He isn’t freed from accountability when he gets to the bar either, an employee notifying him of Bianca’s departure minutes earlier.

“Oh, and sorry about all that... those Cyprus… happenings.”, the employee- Alberico, from his nametag- adds somewhat meekly. “Still, glad to hear you’re general now! It must be such a great opportunity to fight for Venice, I can’t even  _ imagine _ what it’s like, commanding the troops, protecting the state, uh, whatever else generals do...”

His train of thought stops there, but the grin remains plastered on.

“Hey, you’re looking a little tired there- completely understandable, of course, don’t mean to offend- want a coffee on the house? You can, ah, go chasing after your girl afterwards, don’t you worry about that!”

 

Alberico doesn’t wait for a reply, already scooping a handful of coffee beans into a grinder. “Yeah, I know we’re a bar, but you don’t exactly seem like an alcohol kind of guy, you know? Besides, didn’t you fight that one guy from Cyprus after, like, two drinks?”

Cassio can feel his eye twitch. “Alberico-”

“Oh, you’re right, I shouldn’t talk about it. Must’ve been harsh losing your position as lieutenant- oh, and even harsher for everyone else! After all… oh.”

The grin falls. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

 

The loud humming of the grinder drowns out the idle chit-chat of all other customers, at least from where Cassio is standing, and he chooses to focus on the noise lest he falls victim to any more melancholy. Every part of Alberico’s face betrays his shame, but Cassio does not have it in him to feel pity nor penitence.

 

He brings the coffee with him to a restaurant that doesn’t do small talk (no-one seemed to noticed the “borrowed” mug) and slowly sips it as he waits for his fancy-ass pastry to arrive. The weather had turned the coffee distastefully tepid, only serving to enforce Cassio’s wish to go home, forget about society, and sleep again.

He does one of those things, but society still dictates he should probably do  _ something _ with the luggage still decorating his living room, and the caffeine is still high in his system, so he can’t go to sleep either. The jackets, previously taken out, are put in their rightful positions in his wardrobe (walk-in, he inwardly gloats), his button-ups folded and arranged (according to colour), boots re-shined and placed away, cape hung up on its stand, and all the other miscellaneous objects either replaced or shoved into some half-empty shelf. The emptied suitcases fill Cassio with a mild sense of achievement, pushing everything earlier in the day to the back of his mind, and as the caffeine crash finally hits him like a wave, he falls asleep decently content for the first time in weeks.

 

His content did not last long. At first Cassio thinks he’s just dreaming about that morning for whatever odd reason, because his door’s getting knocked on again, and he has a horrible fucking headache again. He’s only snapped out of his delusions when Cassio realises it’s nighttime, instead of morning. Whoever was knocking has clearly given up, and Cassio rolls over in his bed ready to go back to sleep until he can hear a faint jingling noise downstairs, then the distinct rattling of a window being opened.

 

The fuck? Is his house being broken into?

 

Cassio doesn’t fear being attacked, after all he’s a  _ soldier _ , but it’s more the question of “why” that makes his hair stand on end as he makes his way slowly, silently down the stairs. He can hear the person creeping around his living room, opening and closing doors, they walk into a position where they’re partially illuminated by the streetlights outside and-

 

“What the fuck? Roderigo?”

 

It was indeed Roderigo, who froze in motion as soon as his name was called.

“I-”

“What- what the hell are you doing?”, Cassio asks, far too perplexed to truly be angry at the man. Roderigo finds the courage in him to move again once Cassio’s at the bottom of the stairs, straightening himself up into the least guilty pose he can muster.

“I just wanted to get my coat back. I had forgotten about it until sunset, and you didn’t answer me at the door, so I-”

“You broke into my house, Roderigo.”

“Well”, he starts, looking for justification.

Cassio pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other fumbling for the lights. When illuminated, Roderigo somehow looks even guiltier, or rather exposed, but he pays him no mind, heading to the foyer and removing his coat from off the rack.

“Look, you could have just asked in the morning, next afternoon, anytime. Take your coat and leave alright? And for the love of God, don’t break into houses again. You’re a gentleman; act like it.”

 

If it was possible to put a coat on defensively, Roderigo was doing it now. His short journey to the exit is made in silence, and Cassio gets himself ready to put the whole incident behind him- he’s an  _ expert _ in ignoring things by now- until Roderigo turns around in the doorway as if wanting to apologise.

“I want to apologise.”, he declares.

“Well, thank you for your apology- all I ask is that you don’t d-”

“For trying to kill you that night.”

Ah. That.

Cassio sighs for the millionth time that day. “Look, I don’t wish to get caught up in the past. I’ve learned from my… mistakes, and you can too. Besides, wasn’t Iago the one responsible for… everything?”

Roderigo shakes his head, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway.

“No, no. I’ll have to accept my fault in the plot.” He inhales, gaze shifting downward in shame. The next part looks like it’s a little hard to for him to get out.

“I was… rash, and immature, and… I was taken advantage of by… him.”

Cassio chooses to restrain himself from pointing out the hypocrisy in his last words. Roderigo opens his mouth as if starting to say something else, but closes it after some consideration, still not meeting Cassio’s eye.

“Roderigo, I-”

“Sorry, I’ll leave now, I’ve took up too much of your time, stayed here for much too long. I hope you can forgive me.”

 

He nods an awkward goodbye, stepping out into the night and closing the door behind him a little too loudly before Cassio gets a chance to say anything potentially hurtful in any way.

He is left there, staring at the other’s absence, and when Cassio locks the windows, turns off the lights, and returns himself to bed, he can’t help wondering if anything was forgiven at all.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let cassio say fuck 2018


	7. with all my heart i would keep from thee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH LORD I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN THIS IN AGES OH SHIT OH FUCK-

Cassio hasn’t stopped dreaming since he got back to Venice. This doesn’t strike him as particularly unexpected, of course- he knows other soldiers who have been through similar situations, but they’re... uncanny, the nature of his dreams.

In every one of them, he’s just talking to Iago. They’re situated in a dark, cuboid room. Cassio can’t tell how big it is, but he knows Iago’s sitting in the middle, cross-legged, fiddling with some unimportant object, tracking Cassio with his gaze. He always initiates the conversations, inquiring about “the general life”, or telling him some fantastical story that Cassio’s  _ sure _ he’s heard Othello say before, or just asking how everyone’s doing. Aside from the setting, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

It’s unnatural.

 

Cassio hasn’t been woken up in the middle of the night by any of them though, which he’s thankful for. He hasn’t been able to dwell too much on the meaning of the dreams either, his life being thoroughly taken over by his still-undesired duties in the army. It’s all a little frantic, but the work is a useful distraction from most things in his life. Cassio might even say he’s gotten used to normal life in Venice?

Except not really, because nothing would ever be normal again, unfortunately, but everyone’s trying to adapt to the new face of the military. Cassio’s also thankful for that, because he really could go without the constant “I’m so sorry”s and “Congratulations!”s and “How’re you doing?”s that plagued him for the first week or so after his return. He appreciates the sentiment, but… he feels a desperate need to move on. Iago’s taught him that being obsessive over anything will no doubt result in turmoil and loss.

Iago taught his companions many things, actually. His presence always looms over every meeting with the Venetian army Cassio has been to, whether they want it to or not.

It’s probably what he wanted, either way.

 

Cassio’s in one such meeting, briefing a small group of soldiers that were to be reallocated to night shift when a heavy hand clamps down on his shoulder, snapping him out of focus. He starts, flinching and almost slapping the hand off when he recognises that the hand is attached to Brabantio, only then turning around and assuming what he hopes is a stance of composure.

“S-signor Brabantio. I didn’t expect to see you here. Not to advise you your own duties, but isn’t there a congressional meeting today?”

Brabantio obviously isn’t convinced by Cassio’s fake dignity, nor does he seem fazed by the meeting.

“Yes, there is conference- it’s taking place now, as a matter of fact- but the Duke has granted me leave. I’m here to make you aware of…”

He clears his throat, finally removing his hand from Cassio’s shoulder. “Of my daughter’s… my daughter  _ and _ the Moor’s funeral. Preparations are well underway, and it’s planned to take place on the 18th this month, 4pm, Latone Church. I… hope you can attend.”

 

Cassio’s a little more than surprised at the offer, not because he had no idea anything was happening, but mostly because he and Brabantio weren’t exactly on ideal terms with each other. Brabantio frowns at him under his thick eyebrows, expecting a little more answer than silence.

“Yes, i-it would be an honour to come. Thank you for the invitation.”, Cassio quickly stutters out, ignoring a soldier’s muffled chuckle behind him. “I would be quite willing to be of any assistance as well, if any services are needed?”

Brabantio gives him another thin smile, shaking his head. “Your offer is appreciated, but your help is not necessary.”

He clears his throat again, eyes flickering away for a moment. “There will be a chance for members of the gallery to give speeches and pay their respects. You should take that opportunity.”

Cassio’s shoulder is met with an obligatory pat from Brabantio before he leaves as suddenly as he came, and as quietly, too.

 

The soldier’s questions and comments are inevitable.

“Hey, did you know ‘bout that? I never heard anything of the sort on the streets.”

“So what're you going to say?”

“It’s been rather long since Des’s death, hasn’t it?”

“What kind of flowers d’you think Des would enjoy? Tulips, maybe?”

“Not the red ones though- my sister says those should only be sent by lovers.”

“Yeah, but the Moor’s dead. He can’t get jealous at anyone anymore, eh?”

“Ha! He was a good man, though.”

“Oh, absolutely. Such a pity, everything. Anyone have, uh, asphodels to give him?”

“Wait, has anything happened to Iago? They should punish him right after the burial.”

 

As if on cue, the talking stops and everyone looks at Cassio. He looks back at them, a little anxious, a little jaded.

“I have not heard of anything prior to this. I’ll… probably write a speech. No, Leone, it’s only been three weeks. Tulips would be lovely, asphodels too. Yes, Othello was an irreplaceable soldier and a honourable man. We will never forget the service he has done for Venice. As for Iago…”

He trails off,  and his expression betrays everything.

“I don’t know.”

  
  


The church is filled with black. Gloomy clothes. Dark, poorly chosen decorations. Cloud-covered sunlight filtering in through the stained-glass windows, casting long, dim shadows over bowed faces. The only things that aren’t black are the coffins of Desdemona and Othello, their ivory hue almost blinding in the ill-lit hall.

Cassio shifts uncomfortably in his chair. The children’s choir hits a particularly high note in their hymn, ending the opening ceremony to soft applause. They sit down in their stands as Brabantio rises, nodding thanks to the eldest as he steps up to the stage, taking his place behind the wooden podium, looking out toward the masses in the church.

Everything is still and silent.

 

“25 years ago, I met my wife.”, Brabantio starts. “Luca was the daughter of a count and the only heir to his land. In marrying me, she betrayed her father's wishes to marry on par with her nobility. She was my sky, my sun, my moon, my stars. We had one child. A daughter. Desdemona.”

He gestures to one of the coffins lying in front of him.

“Luca died while gifting Desdemona to the world. After her death, I was grief-stricken. My life was miserable. Cold. I vowed to care for her with the love of two parents, to protect and shield her, to  _ never _ let her leave my life.

“It is only now I realise how unhappy Desdemona was, imprisoned within the confines of our house and… the confines of my insecurities. She, like Luca, needed to be free to forge her own life.

“This life would turn out to be one with th- with Othello.”

At this, he gestures to the other coffin.

“They were inseparable, and yet the attempts- both by myself and Iago- to separate them ended up as their demise. For this, I would like to say sorry.”

He looks down for just a second. In humility, perhaps. Maybe in shame.

“Desdemona was always a good daughter. She was beautiful, and intelligent, and sociable, and respectful, and she loved Othello. Both of them, I believe, were good people. I simply was not a good father.

“Today, I will deliver Desdemona to my family tomb. There her body will lie, but I know her soul will be worthier than heaven. Today, I will also deliver Othello into the tomb with my daughter.”

This, unsurprisingly, is met with a quick round of hushed whispering.

“He loved Desdemona as I loved Luca. The best thing I can do for Othello would be to honour him in death. To accept him. As the man Desdemona loved. I would not be able to live with myself if she was alone in the heaven. I will not allow her to make the same mistakes as I did. And for those mistakes, for my hatred, to end my speech, I would like to say sorry.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> true character development is looking back at previously written "speeches" and laughing over the amount of effort i put into such a little amount of lines.


	8. this look of thine shall hurl my soul from heaven.

Cassio never ended up writing his speech, which was just as well, for he never actually presented it. Brabantio was a little taken aback at the decision, to say the least, but his face has gone back to the impassive, dignified state it was usually in, from what Cassio has observed since his declination. Everyone in the church has moved outside now, standing in the 6pm sunlight filtering in through the willows and yews. The sun hasn’t quite begun to set, but the sky has turned several shades darker since the beginning of the funeral.

Desdemona and Othello’s tombs don’t gleam with the same brilliance as before. They’re being carried to Brabantio’s family tomb by some of the senator’s close friends- none of whom Cassio recognises by name. Emilia and Bianca disappeared amongst the crowd almost as soon as they left the church.

 

Cassio watches as the coffins are swallowed up by the darkness of family tomb, and later, as people are engulfed in shadow too, setting down their flowers and sorrows and prayers for the couple. They all exit in varying states of mourning- some composed, some tearful.

The sun is almost touching the horizon when the last of the unknown crowd turns to go home. Emilia and Bianca leave the tomb together, and Cassio can see Bianca smile a goodbye before the other runs to retreat amongst the crowd.

Cassio slowly makes his way toward Bianca, still not sure how to approach her after such an event. He’s been to funerals before, it’s a guarantee that comes with his job, but he’s never seen Bianca at one. What should he do?

 

Cassio is saved from making a decision when Bianca notices him and waves, beckoning him to walk faster. He smiles for probably the first time that day, bringing her in for a quick hug when they’re close enough (which surprises him as much as it surprises her). Bianca’s face is flushed red in the sunlight, and Cassio notices that she’s been crying.

“Have you gone in yet?”, she asks, brushing a strand of hair behind her ears. “The flowers are quite nice. Some of the tulips smell like honey. It’s completely understandable if you haven’t of course, I mean-”

Cassio hastily interrupts. “Oh, no, I haven’t gone in yet, but also-”

There’s no time to warn Bianca before Brabantio seemingly appears out of nowhere, clapping a hand down on her shoulder. She emits a high-pitched sound halfway between an “i” and an “e”, slapping the hand off with a lot more force than was necessary, whirling around and-

 

“Br- Signor Brabantio!”, Bianca exclaims, inconspicuously wiping the offending hand on her dress. “Sorry about reacting in such a way; you gave me quite a fright! I thought you were still in the church, so I didn’t expect to see you here!”

Brabantio releases her shoulder from his grip, waving it in dismissal of her apology.

“It’s quite alright… Bianca, was it?”

She nods, and Brabantio turns his attention to Cassio.

“I hope you don’t mind terribly, but I’ve got some business to discuss with Cassio. Privately, if you would? It shouldn’t take too long.”

“O-oh,” Bianca’s smile falters just a fraction. She looks like she’s going to protest, but… “Yes, that’s fine. I won’t be far, alright?”, she says to Cassio, leaving obediently, albeit reluctantly.

 

Brabantio follows her with his gaze, seemingly distracted. It’s a minute before Cassio pipes up.

“Signor, you said you had some business with me?”

“Oh, yes. I need to have a word with you.”

He doesn’t for a long while, just looking out toward the middle-distance at nothing. A breeze blows some leaves into the tomb, swirling around the unsettled dust. A single ray of sunlight shines through a small gap in the brickwork, illuminating the flowers on Othello’s coffin.

 

“I still hate the Moor, you know.”

Cassio looks over to Brabantio. His eyes are cast down, brows drawn as if in thought. They stand in silence for a little longer, the chill breeze blowing away anything they might have wanted to say.

“I just think I could have done something. To save Desdemona from everything- I’m her father! I might just have stopped all of this! Nothing would have happened!”

He actually chuckles under his breath, but it’s soon replaced with a much grimmer expression.

“Tell me, Cassio. What do you make of all this? Who’s to blame?”

Brabantio looks almost hurt when Cassio doesn’t reply immediately. The sun has almost entirely set by now, casting long, purple shadows on the almost indigo grass, with how dark it is.

“I… I don’t know.”, Cassio says for the second time that day. Brabantio’s expression doesn’t change discernibly, but Cassio can tell he’s disappointed. “I’m sorry.”, and he can’t bring himself to say any more.

 

The following silence descends upon them like water presses down on a drowning man, only there’s no sense of desperation. Just their sorrows and the dying wind. Brabantio’s the first to move after what seems like an hour of almost-tranquility, thrusting his hands in his pockets and inhaling deeply.

“There’s no need to be sorry, Cassio. We… we can’t always have everything we want. I think I’ve learnt that now.”

He speaks softly- the first time Cassio has heard him so  _ exposed _ by his own choice. He looks back in the tomb one last time- the light is gone, and the dust has fallen again, covering the flowers with a fine layer of time.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”, Brabantio remarks, turning to leave the premises. He makes his way halfway toward the exit of the churchyard before he turns around, giving Cassio an actual, genuine smile, however sad it may be. “I’ll call Bianca back.”

 

“Everything alright?”, she inquires as soon as another hug is exchanged between them.

“Yes, everything’s fine. No need to worry.”, Cassio replies. “Want to, uh,”

He nods his head towards the entrance of the tomb, which is almost completely black.

“Want to go in?”

“...No, I-”

Cassio watches with a touch of concern as Bianca seats herself on one of the short rocks marking a pathway to the tomb, folding her arms across her body and resting them on her knees.

“It’s just… I’m scared. For us. If something- or someone- gets between our… relationship, I- I don’t know what I’ll do. What  _ you’ll _ do.”

 

Bianca’s voice is on the verge of wavering, and Cassio immediately sits down next to her, resting a hopefully-comforting arm around her shoulders. She leans into him.

“I know we’re not a… a  _ thing _ , but. Even our friendship- I don’t want to lose- We  _ can’t _ lose that. Right?”

Cassio draws her closer.

“No. No, we can’t lose that. I won’t let anything happen to us.”

 

Bianca’s hair is streaked with gold in the dying light of the sun, her eyes wet with unshed tears that glisten in the shadows that fall across her face. The wind raises goosebumps on her exposed arms and she draws closer to Cassio. He embraces her.

“We won’t lose this. I promise.”

 

They stay together until the sky is dusted with tiny stars. Othello and Desdemona’s tomb is closed, and a village in the distance is slowly turning darker as people start to sleep. The wind died down an hour before, leaving behind a warm summer’s night. Bianca fell asleep in Cassio’s arms a long time ago, her head now resting on his shoulder.

It’s the first time he’s been completely at ease since the first day back in Venice. Completely free from pressure, from responsibilities, from the world. He wishes he could stay like this forever.

 

Movement in the corner of his eye says that he, unfortunately, cannot. Cassio recognises it as a person flitting around the churchyard; a foreigner searching for something, or someone. Careful not to disturb Bianca, he leans forward a little to get a better view through the darkness. He sees red and gold, a small gleam of armour, the hilt of a sword? No-one but guards and soldiers wore armour at night, no-one else but them was allowed to carry weaponry in the form of a  _ sword _ , and his soldiers would be asleep by now, unless…

 

“Cassio! Cassio, is that you?”

 

Oh good lord,  _ Montano _ .

The governor apparently takes silence as an answer, striding with alarming speed towards him and Bianca, who is still asleep. He looks pleasantly surprised by her presence, but his expression quickly reverts to one of apprehension and stress.

 

“Cassio, we need to talk. Now.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /cue dramatic soundtrack


	9. any cunning cruelty shall be his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the uh. the torture scene. it's not really all that bad (just a bit of blood n tongue-slicing), but yeah. just a heads-up.

When Bianca wakes up, it feels to her like she’s dreaming. It’s dark. So very dark, but she can begin to make out pinpricks of light above her, and a brighter gleam just out of her periphery that looks to be the moon. She feels a hand shaking her shoulder, hears whispers of her name.

“Bianca..? Bianca. Bianca, wake up. Bianca?”

 

Cassio’s face comes into focus, then another man’s behind him- …M-Montano, was it?

“Cassio? Wh- what time is it?”

She can hear her neck crack as she sits upright, stretching her arms and legs. Cassio rolls his shoulders next to her, and Bianca realises that she’s been sleeping on him for  _ hours _ .

“It’s around 10, I think. Uh, you should go home now, I’ve got.”

He nods his head back towards Montano, who smiles and nods at Bianca.

“I’ve got some, uh, business with the government. Remember that meeting with the others? About Iago?”

 

Of  _ course _ Bianca remembers it. Emilia’s fear, her own anxiety, the shouting, the voices, the silence. But what’s that got to do with- oh, unless-

“We- I’m  executing his punishment. Tonight. Alone.”

A sense of trepidation immediately grips her, and she rises to her feet, gripping Cassio’s hands. She stares into his eyes with an increasing sense of dread, unsure of what to say. The air is almost electric with her fear, and Bianca wants- needs to stop him going  _ anywhere _ near that  _ monster _ … but her arms drop to her sides, limp, and she takes a step away.

“Stay safe.”, she whispers.

 

After they make sure Bianca gets home unharmed, Montano snaps to business-mode, walking faster towards… wherever he is taking Cassio.

“Lodovico and Gratiano already present”, he starts, looking behind him again for anyone that could be following them. The street is absent save for a stray cat, who blinks lazily and retreats behind an empty crate.

“The three of us have discussed it privately with the Duke, and we agree that you should not be the one inflicting punishment on Iago. We believe it is much too dangerous, in case he scrounges together the audacity to hurt you (unlikely, yes, but this is  _ Iago _ we’re talking about). Gratiano has volunteered to torture him, he’s had experience with interrogations anyways, but if you have any objections, voice them now. We’re almost here.”

 

The streets are silent, unseasonably cold, and still completely unrecognisable to Cassio. His previous time in the army had mostly been the surveillance of trade routes and dispatchment of soldiers to other armies in need of help- he had almost no knowledge of torture, and definitely nothing this close, this  _ personal _ .

So an objection was out of the question, Cassio says.

  
  


The stench of blood is already permeating the dungeons when Montano and Cassio arrive. (Dungeons? Cassio didn’t even know the city had them). As they descend the stairs, it only grows stronger. Every step he takes fills him with further disgust and fear, mixing together like a nightmare concoction in the deepest abysses of his soul. By the time he arrives at the cell, Cassio feels just about ready to throw up.

The blood isn’t the problem, he realises. Iago is.

 

They lock eyes for the first time in almost a month and Cassio’s startled at how much nothing has changed. Iago is thinner and dirtier and he’s shackled tightly to a pole in the middle of the cell, but Cassio can see a crafty glint in his eyes, his hair hasn’t grown so long as to hide the small scar on his neck, and when he smiles-  _ why is he smiling _ \- it’s a reflection of every bit of the soldier he used to be. The soldier he used to admire.

 

He’s looking down on Iago now, but only physically. Iago’s presence in the room looms over everyone present, and forces Cassio completely speechless. He’s uneasy, he’s terrified, and he can’t fucking look away.

 

Montano clears his throat, breaking Cassio out of his trance.

“You don’t need to worry. He won’t be able to hurt you behind bars.”

It’s only then he registers the presence of Lodovico and Gratiano in the room. The former looks almost as nervous as Cassio feels, never looking in the same place for more than a couple of seconds, fidgeting like someone’s going to attack him at any time. Gratiano is also restless, but he can tell from his expression that he’s not anxious. He’s looking forward to hurting Iago.

This strikes Cassio as needlessly cru-

 

...The thought of hurting someone who has killed two others strikes Cassio as needlessly cruel, and Cassio automatically berates himself internally for it. Iago chuckles almost silently next to him, and he’s reminded of the questions that ran through his mind day after day on the journey back to Venice.  _ Was he not ready to accept Iago as a murderer? _

 

“Cassio?”

Montano’s voice is quiet, soft, a stark contrast to his usual air of gaiety. He looks concerned, to say the least, at whatever Cassio’s expression reveals about his inner turmoil.

“Do… do you want to be left alone a while?”

“No!”, Cassio blurts out, and the sound reverberates within the dungeons, slowly echoing into silence. “No, I-I’m just having a little trouble, ah... adjusting. Please, continue.”

Neither Montano nor Lodovico look the least bit reassured, but whatever protests they might have had are interrupted by Gratiano filling the cells with the grating sound of metal on metal.

 

Iago’s chains rattle in a half-hearted attempt to distance himself from the dagger that is being scraped against the bars of his cell, sparks flying, burning, and falling to the ground.

“I knew a guy.”, Gratiano starts, still relentlessly attacking the cell. “He was a Jew. A moneylender. He almost fucking  _ murdered _ one of my friends."

 

He stops sharpening his dagger, holding out a hand towards Montano, who gingerly places the cell key in his open palm. Gratiano’s fingers close around it.

“After his plans were foiled, he supposedly hung himself. I told him to do it, of course. It was only fair, only just, that he died. But  _ you _ .”

With alarming speed, he unlocks the cell and thrusts the door open, letting it clang onto the wall. Cassio flinches like he just got stabbed.

“ _You_ _killed_ my niece. You plunged my brother into grief. You fucking RUINED my LIFE!” Gratiano’s voice fills the dungeon with relentless, revengeful, fury, and he lunges toward Iago, banging his head against the pole behind him. The dagger spins in his hand, rising to rest on the bottom of Iago’s chin.

 

A tiny,  _ tiny _ drop of blood traces a line down the blade.

 

Gratiano’s chest rises and falls, his hoarse breaths amplified to almost animalistic growling. “I could fucking  _ kill _ you right here.”

The dagger falls to Iago’s stomach.

“I could plunge this into your gut.”, he whispers. “Disembowel you. Tear you apart.”

He leans in closer, presses the tip of his dagger into Iago’s shirt and slowly, deliberately, rips into the fabric, getting closer and closer to the skin. Cassio becomes suddenly aware of how much he’s shaking.

 

Montano looks like he’s just about to intervene, but Gratiano draws back, still using one hand to hold Iago’s head to the pole.

“No. Neither death nor all of hell’s fury could be an equal punishment for your actions.” He pauses, letting words sink into the silence.

“We’re keeping you alive. The city state demands answers, and I demand justice. I need to make you suffer. This- this is Desdemona’s avengement.”

 

Gratiano’s grip on Iago loosens and shifts downward, prying his mouth open with his hands.

“Montano, hop in here. I need to get his tongue.”

Montano and Gratiano switch places on either side of Iago, and the latter holds his tongue out between his thumb and forefinger repulsively. Iago’s breaths come ragged and heavy.

He makes no effort to resist.

 

Torchlight glints off Gratiano’s dagger as it slowly rises toward its victim. It lingers just above Iago’s tongue, his breaths close enough to form condensation on the blade. Gratiano’s brow is furrowed in concentration as he angles the dagger and lowers his hand.

 

Iago’s whole body recoils at the sudden burn after a month of deprivation and numbness, eyes stuttering wide, almost gasping in pain, but the other cuts deeper and his voice is caught in the blood that’s started to run down his chin and his throat. Gratiano snarls, and the blade all but slices through a portion of Iago’s tongue.

 

It falls to the floor, patterned with blood and saliva.

Cassio  _ needs _ to leave.

  
  


The streets are completely dark when he exits the dungeons, and Cassio’s forced to keep a hand against the nearest wall until he regains his vision. His head swims with visions of nothing but Iago, and he’s reminded of his first dream on the night of arrival- Iago following him around the Cyprean courtyards, sword drawn, eyes flashing. Only this time,  _ he’s _ the one being attacked.  _ Iago _ is the one that’s hurting. Cassio can feel a familiar itch plague his leg again, and he scratches the barely-healed wound.

His eyes have gotten used to the darkness enough that Cassio can detect faint flashes of torchlight dancing on the opposite walls, their beauty ruined by Lodovico’s equally faint orders and Gratiano’s less restrained yelling.

He strains to hear, but there’s nothing from Iago- no protests, no screams, just silence within the noise. He absolutely  _ detests _ it.

 

“C-Cassio?”, a stammering voice calls from directly beside him, and it’s all Cassio can do to restrain himself from reflexively slamming the other’s head into the wall. His hand grabs the hilt of his dagger on his belt, tensing, ready to strike.

“Oh, fuck! No, please don’t hurt me-”

For the love of  _ God _ .

“Roderigo! Wait, shh.”

The noises have silenced from the bottom of the stairs. Roderigo completely stills, in fear of discovery, and Cassio can hear shallow, uneven breaths down the back of his neck. 

 

Someone says something again downstairs, and the night is filled with muffled voices again.

“... Is Iago down there?”, Roderigo whispers after too long a pause. He sounds afraid.

“Y- Yes, he is. What are you doing here? How did you find out about all of this? You can’t be seen here, you need to leave. You need to get away.”

Cassio leads Roderigo away from the entrance to the dungeons, settling near a small bench. A rusty pipe slowly drips near one of the legs, the puddle distorting crumbling rooftops and barely-visible moonlight.

“Roderigo.  _ Speak _ . What are you doing here?”

If the younger’s expression is anything to go by, he’s not quite sure either.

“Roderigo-”

“ _ I don’t know _ , alright? P-please stop asking, I just… I need to see him again. I need to talk to him. I- I...”

The sentence is never finished.

 

Montano’s shadow obstructs the torchlight a few minutes later as he makes his way up the stairs, no doubt to call Cassio back in after his abrupt exit. Roderigo twitches into panicked stillness as his footsteps sound out in the street, as if suddenly realising that yes, what he is doing is highly illegal.

“Roderigo, get out of here.  _ Now _ !”

He shakily nods, stumbling into a nearby alley just as Montano emerges from the darkness, holding a torch. The sudden brightness almost blinds Cassio and he squints into the light, trying to adjust to his surroundings again.

 

Back in the dungeon, he’s met with the smell of burnt flesh and the sight of Iago still shackled to the post, head bowed and arms limp, his body only held up through the chains that cross his chest. His shirt is stained with blood.

Gratiano is leaning on a charred metal rod, no doubt the instrument that was used to cauterize Iago’s wound.

“He passed out not far in.”, he explains, smoothly standing upright and placing the rod in a nearby bucket of water. “Couldn’t deal with the pain, we figured. I’m just glad he didn’t actually choke on his own blood-  _ that _ would’ve been a disaster. I’m not letting him die so soon.”

Gratiano looks back to Iago. Spits at him.

“I’ll leave now. When you decide when the next session is, you know where to find me.”

With a nod to Lodovico and Montano, and a pointed stare at Cassio, he leaves.

 

“Cassio? Are… are you alright?”

Lodovico’s voice is no louder than a murmur. Montano locks up Iago’s cell.

“No.”, he whispers, voice cracking.

As day breaks above the stairs to the dungeon, Cassio sinks onto his knees and begins to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THUS. concludes all my pre-written chapters.
> 
> i've gotten..... most of the rest of this up til the end planned out, but i think the real question here is whether i'll have time to write them.


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